There was no longer satisfying variety in going down to Carson to report the proceedings1 of the legislature once a year, and horse-races and pumpkin-shows once in three months; (they had got to raising pumpkins2 and potatoes in Washoe Valley, and of course one of the first achievements of the legislature was to institute a ten-thousand-dollar Agricultural Fair to show off forty dollars’ worth of those pumpkins in—however, the territorial3 legislature was usually spoken of as the “asylum”). I wanted to see San Francisco. I wanted to go somewhere. I wanted—I did not know what I wanted. I had the “spring fever” and wanted a change, principally, no doubt. Besides, a convention had framed a State Constitution; nine men out of every ten wanted an office; I believed that these gentlemen would “treat” the moneyless and the irresponsible among the population into adopting the constitution and thus well-nigh killing4 the country (it could not well carry such a load as a State government, since it had nothing to tax that could stand a tax, for undeveloped mines could not, and there were not fifty developed ones in the land, there was but little realty to tax, and it did seem as if nobody was ever going to think of the simple salvation5 of inflicting6 a money penalty on murder). I believed that a State government would destroy the “flush times,” and I wanted to get away. I believed that the mining stocks I had on hand would soon be worth $100,000, and thought if they reached that before the Constitution was adopted, I would sell out and make myself secure from the crash the change of government was going to bring. I considered $100,000 sufficient to go home with decently, though it was but a small amount compared to what I had been expecting to return with. I felt rather down-hearted about it, but I tried to comfort myself with the reflection that with such a sum I could not fall into want. About this time a schoolmate of mine whom I had not seen since boyhood, came tramping in on foot from Reese River, a very allegory of Poverty. The son of wealthy parents, here he was, in a strange land, hungry, bootless, mantled7 in an ancient horse-blanket, roofed with a brimless hat, and so generally and so extravagantly8 dilapidated that he could have “taken the shine out of the Prodigal9 Son himself,” as he pleasantly remarked.
He wanted to borrow forty-six dollars—twenty-six to take him to San Francisco, and twenty for something else; to buy some soap with, maybe, for he needed it. I found I had but little more than the amount wanted, in my pocket; so I stepped in and borrowed forty-six dollars of a banker (on twenty days’ time, without the formality of a note), and gave it him, rather than walk half a block to the office, where I had some specie laid up. If anybody had told me that it would take me two years to pay back that forty-six dollars to the banker (for I did not expect it of the Prodigal, and was not disappointed), I would have felt injured. And so would the banker.
I wanted a change. I wanted variety of some kind. It came. Mr. Goodman went away for a week and left me the post of chief editor. It destroyed me. The first day, I wrote my “leader” in the forenoon. The second day, I had no subject and put it off till the afternoon. The third day I put it off till evening, and then copied an elaborate editorial out of the “American Cyclopedia,” that steadfast11 friend of the editor, all over this land. The fourth day I “fooled around” till midnight, and then fell back on the Cyclopedia again. The fifth day I cudgeled my brain till midnight, and then kept the press waiting while I penned some bitter personalities12 on six different people. The sixth day I labored13 in anguish14 till far into the night and brought forth—nothing. The paper went to press without an editorial. The seventh day I resigned. On the eighth, Mr. Goodman returned and found six duels15 on his hands—my personalities had borne fruit.
Nobody, except he has tried it, knows what it is to be an editor. It is easy to scribble16 local rubbish, with the facts all before you; it is easy to clip selections from other papers; it is easy to string out a correspondence from any locality; but it is unspeakable hardship to write editorials. Subjects are the trouble—the dreary17 lack of them, I mean. Every day, it is drag, drag, drag—think, and worry and suffer—all the world is a dull blank, and yet the editorial columns must be filled. Only give the editor a subject, and his work is done—it is no trouble to write it up; but fancy how you would feel if you had to pump your brains dry every day in the week, fifty-two weeks in the year. It makes one low spirited simply to think of it. The matter that each editor of a daily paper in America writes in the course of a year would fill from four to eight bulky volumes like this book! Fancy what a library an editor’s work would make, after twenty or thirty years’ service. Yet people often marvel18 that Dickens, Scott, Bulwer, Dumas, etc., have been able to produce so many books. If these authors had wrought19 as voluminously as newspaper editors do, the result would be something to marvel at, indeed. How editors can continue this tremendous labor10, this exhausting consumption of brain fibre (for their work is creative, and not a mere20 mechanical laying-up of facts, like reporting), day after day and year after year, is incomprehensible. Preachers take two months’ holiday in midsummer, for they find that to produce two sermons a week is wearing, in the long run. In truth it must be so, and is so; and therefore, how an editor can take from ten to twenty texts and build upon them from ten to twenty painstaking21 editorials a week and keep it up all the year round, is farther beyond comprehension than ever. Ever since I survived my week as editor, I have found at least one pleasure in any newspaper that comes to my hand; it is in admiring the long columns of editorial, and wondering to myself how in the mischief22 he did it!
Mr. Goodman’s return relieved me of employment, unless I chose to become a reporter again. I could not do that; I could not serve in the ranks after being General of the army. So I thought I would depart and go abroad into the world somewhere. Just at this juncture23, Dan, my associate in the reportorial department, told me, casually24, that two citizens had been trying to persuade him to go with them to New York and aid in selling a rich silver mine which they had discovered and secured in a new mining district in our neighborhood. He said they offered to pay his expenses and give him one third of the proceeds of the sale. He had refused to go. It was the very opportunity I wanted. I abused him for keeping so quiet about it, and not mentioning it sooner. He said it had not occurred to him that I would like to go, and so he had recommended them to apply to Marshall, the reporter of the other paper. I asked Dan if it was a good, honest mine, and no swindle. He said the men had shown him nine tons of the rock, which they had got out to take to New York, and he could cheerfully say that he had seen but little rock in Nevada that was richer; and moreover, he said that they had secured a tract25 of valuable timber and a mill-site, near the mine. My first idea was to kill Dan. But I changed my mind, notwithstanding I was so angry, for I thought maybe the chance was not yet lost. Dan said it was by no means lost; that the men were absent at the mine again, and would not be in Virginia to leave for the East for some ten days; that they had requested him to do the talking to Marshall, and he had promised that he would either secure Marshall or somebody else for them by the time they got back; he would now say nothing to anybody till they returned, and then fulfil his promise by furnishing me to them.
It was splendid. I went to bed all on fire with excitement; for nobody had yet gone East to sell a Nevada silver mine, and the field was white for the sickle27. I felt that such a mine as the one described by Dan would bring a princely sum in New York, and sell without delay or difficulty. I could not sleep, my fancy so rioted through its castles in the air. It was the “blind lead” come again.
Next day I got away, on the coach, with the usual eclat28 attending departures of old citizens,—for if you have only half a dozen friends out there they will make noise for a hundred rather than let you seem to go away neglected and unregretted—and Dan promised to keep strict watch for the men that had the mine to sell.
The trip was signalized but by one little incident, and that occurred just as we were about to start. A very seedy looking vagabond passenger got out of the stage a moment to wait till the usual ballast of silver bricks was thrown in. He was standing26 on the pavement, when an awkward express employee, carrying a brick weighing a hundred pounds, stumbled and let it fall on the bummer’s foot. He instantly dropped on the ground and began to howl in the most heart-breaking way. A sympathizing crowd gathered around and were going to pull his boot off; but he screamed louder than ever and they desisted; then he fell to gasping29, and between the gasps30 ejaculated “Brandy! for Heaven’s sake, brandy!” They poured half a pint31 down him, and it wonderfully restored and comforted him. Then he begged the people to assist him to the stage, which was done. The express people urged him to have a doctor at their expense, but he declined, and said that if he only had a little brandy to take along with him, to soothe32 his paroxyms of pain when they came on, he would be grateful and content. He was quickly supplied with two bottles, and we drove off. He was so smiling and happy after that, that I could not refrain from asking him how he could possibly be so comfortable with a crushed foot.
“Well,” said he, “I hadn’t had a drink for twelve hours, and hadn’t a cent to my name. I was most perishing—and so, when that duffer dropped that hundred-pounder on my foot, I see my chance. Got a cork33 leg, you know!” and he pulled up his pantaloons and proved it.
One drunken man necessarily reminds one of another. I once heard a gentleman tell about an incident which he witnessed in a Californian bar- room. He entitled it “Ye Modest Man Taketh a Drink.” It was nothing but a bit of acting35, but it seemed to me a perfect rendering36, and worthy38 of Toodles himself. The modest man, tolerably far gone with beer and other matters, enters a saloon (twenty-five cents is the price for anything and everything, and specie the only money used) and lays down a half dollar; calls for whiskey and drinks it; the bar-keeper makes change and lays the quarter in a wet place on the counter; the modest man fumbles39 at it with nerveless fingers, but it slips and the water holds it; he contemplates40 it, and tries again; same result; observes that people are interested in what he is at, blushes; fumbles at the quarter again—blushes—puts his forefinger41 carefully, slowly down, to make sure of his aim—pushes the coin toward the bar-keeper, and says with a sigh:
“Gimme a cigar!”
Naturally, another gentleman present told about another drunken man. He said he reeled toward home late at night; made a mistake and entered the wrong gate; thought he saw a dog on the stoop; and it was—an iron one.
He stopped and considered; wondered if it was a dangerous dog; ventured to say “Be (hic) begone!” No effect. Then he approached warily42, and adopted conciliation43; pursed up his lips and tried to whistle, but failed; still approached, saying, “Poor dog!—doggy, doggy, doggy!—poor doggy-dog!” Got up on the stoop, still petting with fond names; till master of the advantages; then exclaimed, “Leave, you thief!”—planted a vindictive44 kick in his ribs45, and went head-over-heels overboard, of course. A pause; a sigh or two of pain, and then a remark in a reflective voice:
“Awful solid dog. What could he ben eating? (’ic!) Rocks, p’raps. Such animals is dangerous.—’ At’s what I say—they’re dangerous. If a man—(’ic!)—if a man wants to feed a dog on rocks, let him feed him on rocks; ’at’s all right; but let him keep him at home—not have him layin’ round promiscuous46, where (’ic!) where people’s liable to stumble over him when they ain’t noticin’!”
It was not without regret that I took a last look at the tiny flag (it was thirty-five feet long and ten feet wide) fluttering like a lady’s handkerchief from the topmost peak of Mount Davidson, two thousand feet above Virginia’s roofs, and felt that doubtless I was bidding a permanent farewell to a city which had afforded me the most vigorous enjoyment47 of life I had ever experienced. And this reminds me of an incident which the dullest memory Virginia could boast at the time it happened must vividly48 recall, at times, till its possessor dies. Late one summer afternoon we had a rain shower.
That was astonishing enough, in itself, to set the whole town buzzing, for it only rains (during a week or two weeks) in the winter in Nevada, and even then not enough at a time to make it worth while for any merchant to keep umbrellas for sale. But the rain was not the chief wonder. It only lasted five or ten minutes; while the people were still talking about it all the heavens gathered to themselves a dense49 blackness as of midnight. All the vast eastern front of Mount Davidson, over- looking the city, put on such a funereal50 gloom that only the nearness and solidity of the mountain made its outlines even faintly distinguishable from the dead blackness of the heavens they rested against. This unaccustomed sight turned all eyes toward the mountain; and as they looked, a little tongue of rich golden flame was seen waving and quivering in the heart of the midnight, away up on the extreme summit! In a few minutes the streets were packed with people, gazing with hardly an uttered word, at the one brilliant mote51 in the brooding world of darkness. It flicked52 like a candle-flame, and looked no larger; but with such a background it was wonderfully bright, small as it was. It was the flag!—though no one suspected it at first, it seemed so like a supernatural visitor of some kind—a mysterious messenger of good tidings, some were fain to believe. It was the nation’s emblem53 transfigured by the departing rays of a sun that was entirely54 palled55 from view; and on no other object did the glory fall, in all the broad panorama56 of mountain ranges and deserts. Not even upon the staff of the flag—for that, a needle in the distance at any time, was now untouched by the light and undistinguishable in the gloom. For a whole hour the weird57 visitor winked58 and burned in its lofty solitude59, and still the thousands of uplifted eyes watched it with fascinated interest. How the people were wrought up! The superstition60 grew apace that this was a mystic courier come with great news from the war—the poetry of the idea excusing and commending it—and on it spread, from heart to heart, from lip to lip and from street to street, till there was a general impulse to have out the military and welcome the bright waif with a salvo of artillery61!
And all that time one sorely tried man, the telegraph operator sworn to official secrecy62, had to lock his lips and chain his tongue with a silence that was like to rend37 them; for he, and he only, of all the speculating multitude, knew the great things this sinking sun had seen that day in the east—Vicksburg fallen, and the union arms victorious63 at Gettysburg!
But for the journalistic monopoly that forbade the slightest revealment of eastern news till a day after its publication in the California papers, the glorified64 flag on Mount Davidson would have been saluted65 and re-saluted, that memorable66 evening, as long as there was a charge of powder to thunder with; the city would have been illuminated67, and every man that had any respect for himself would have got drunk,—as was the custom of the country on all occasions of public moment. Even at this distant day I cannot think of this needlessly marred68 supreme69 opportunity without regret. What a time we might have had!
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
pumpkins
|
|
| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
territorial
|
|
| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
salvation
|
|
| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
inflicting
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
mantled
|
|
| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
extravagantly
|
|
| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
prodigal
|
|
| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
steadfast
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
personalities
|
|
| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
labored
|
|
| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
duels
|
|
| n.两男子的决斗( duel的名词复数 )；竞争，斗争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
scribble
|
|
| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
marvel
|
|
| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
painstaking
|
|
| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
juncture
|
|
| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
tract
|
|
| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
sickle
|
|
| n.镰刀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
eclat
|
|
| n.显赫之成功，荣誉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
gasping
|
|
| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
gasps
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
soothe
|
|
| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
cork
|
|
| n.软木，软木塞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
rendering
|
|
| n.表现，描写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
rend
|
|
| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
fumbles
|
|
| 摸索，笨拙的处理( fumble的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
contemplates
|
|
| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的第三人称单数 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
forefinger
|
|
| n.食指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
warily
|
|
| adv.留心地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
conciliation
|
|
| n.调解，调停 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
vindictive
|
|
| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
ribs
|
|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
promiscuous
|
|
| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
vividly
|
|
| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
funereal
|
|
| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
mote
|
|
| n.微粒；斑点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
flicked
|
|
| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
palled
|
|
| v.（因过多或过久而）生厌，感到乏味，厌烦( pall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
panorama
|
|
| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
weird
|
|
| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
winked
|
|
| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
superstition
|
|
| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
artillery
|
|
| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
secrecy
|
|
| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
victorious
|
|
| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
glorified
|
|
| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
marred
|
|
| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |